My Paradise

Endure, be like Elsa

After years of being together and knowing each other, you'd think that things would be perfect, or at least close to perfect, but no. They were far from.

Wyatt and I couldn't be in the same room for more than thirty minutes without arguing, and most of our arguments were rather stupid, petty and/or extremely unnecessary.

I didn't know what I was doing wrong, but judging by Wyatt's behaviour, it must have been everything.

Eventually, something in him snapped for some reason. Things changed, and most definitely not for the better.

"Lesley?!" He yelled from the bedroom and I rolled my eyes in irritation. He only called me by my full name whenever he was pissed or was about to yell at me about something stupid.

What does he want now?

"What?!" I yelled back, not bothering to move from my place on the couch.

"Where's my jacket?!"

"'WhERe'S My JaCKeT?'" I mocked lowly to myself. "Of course I know which jacket you're talking about, it's not like you have more than one or anything." I mumbled to myself like a kid who kept getting sent everytime their butt landed on the couch.

I stood up and walked to the bedroom to see what he wanted.

"You mind being a bit more specific, Wyatt." I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"My blue jacket, the one with the red stripes." He said, miming stripes on his arms.

"It's in the laundry." The look in his eyes was almost similar to that of a bull that had seen red.

"What is it doing in there?" He asked, his voice low in an unfamiliar way that I didn't like.

What's his deal?

"I asked you if I should wash it and you didn't answer, so I just put it in the laundry." I said, unfolding my arms and going to the kitchen to get myself something to drink.

"The fact that I didn't answer means 'no, don't put my fucking jacket in the fucking laundry!'"

"Jesus Wyatt, it's not that big of a deal, I'll just go and get it if you want it that bad." I said with a calm voice.

My words just seemed to antagonize him more than I had intended and when I moved to the laundry room to get his damned jacked, he grabbed my wrist, turning me around and immediately backhanded me across the face.

Since I wasn't expecting that, I fell to the floor, a hand flying to cover my cheek he just hit.

"Oh my god, Les, I am so so sorry." Wyatt said with panic as he rushed to my side. My eyes were now open as I looked at the floor, then I looked up at him with teary eyes, my cheek still stinging.

"I-I didn't mean to do that, baby I'm sorry." He said as he pulled me into his chest, cradling my head in his arms.

I kept quiet as I let the tears fall into his shirt as he kept rambling apologies and excuses.

"I swear, I didn't mean it... I don't know what got into me... I'm so sorry, Les... I promise it won't ever happen again, okay? I promise."

When my tears had stopped, I pushed him away gently and stood up.

"It's okay. I'll get you that jacket." I said with a low voice as I went to get his jacket.

That was just the first of many.

I'm sure you know how it goes. First he apologizes, then says he doesn't know what happened, then promises never to do it again... Eventually...

... It was your fault.

"It's your fault for having such a big mouth. Don't you ever shut up? God, woman. I swear to god."

"It's your fault that you didn't put salt in this. Who the fuck doesn't put salt in the food when cooking?!"

"It's your fault for wearing that stupid dress. Didn't I tell you not to wear it? Huh? Didn't I?"

"It's your fault for not listening to me. You never fucking listen to me, I'm fucking tired of you thinking you know it all."

"It's all your fucking fault... And you fucking know it!!!"

Eventually, he had said it enough times that it was imbedded in my fucking brain that whatever I got beat up for was my fault.

*Slap* it's okay, it was my fault.

*Punch* no, no, don't worry, it was my fault.

*Kick* I understand, I deserved it.

*Pull* I should've listened, I did this to myself.

A voice at the back of my head screamed: Run you stupid bitch!! But the much stronger, much louder voice said: Endure, be like Elsa, conceal, don't feel, don't let it show... Don't let them know. You have nothing, where will you go?

And as painful as it was, that much stronger, much louder voice was right.

Wyatt wouldn't let me work, so I had no job to take care of myself, of course he didn't stop me, but it's like he hypnotized me. He has a way of getting what he wants... And he always got what he wanted.

"Hey babe." I would say casually, hoping not to set him off. He would hum a response without looking at me, but I knew he was listening. "I was thinking of getting a job. It would really help us financially, you know."

"Oh sure. That's cool. But why would you want to work when you have the whole day to yourself? Working is really tiring, trust me, babe. Besides, I think we're doing just fine with my income. You can work though if you want to, I'm not stopping you."

Sounds harmless huh?

In all honesty, that was just some bullshit reverse psychology thing he always did to get his way, and seeing how weak I was for him, I always fell for it.

So yeah, I didn't make my own money, so I couldn't move out and get a place of my own and I couldn't go back to my mom. If she knew what was going on in my house she would probably drop dead.

I always thought of those movies and murder cases where the guy would abuse their wives and blame it on the alcohol.

Wyatt never got drunk... But his fists still flew.

The difference between those cases and I is that Wyatt didn't have a gun.

Yes, I may have a knife or two at my disposal...

... But I also don't have the guts to pull something like that off.

Just because I was dealing with the abuse didn't mean that I could survive prison.

Sometimes, I thought of this type of thing for longer than I would like to admit.

I imagined putting sleeping pills in his food as he came home, then waiting for him to sleep before grabbing a knife from the kitchen and tightly sliding it across his throat as he struggled under my hold.

I imagined buying a gun and waiting for him to sleep, or maybe I'd just do it with him awake. I don't know.

I thought of holding the gun to his head and gently squeezed the trigger, bracing myself as the loud bang surrounded the room, Wyatt's brains blowing out of his skull as his blood splattered onto my skin.

I've pictured him lifeless so many times, I was scared I was actually losing myself. But I was a coward. I could never actually convince myself to go through with it.

I mean, I didn't help that I still loved him, even after everything he's put me through. I just couldn't help it. Even though he didn't act like it, his face still belonged to that boy that I fell in love with, all those years ago.

I was stuck in a dead end with no where to go and no one to turn to.

I was all alone in a never ending nightmare that would eventually end me...